


And Your Kingdom Too

by vuas



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Ben has an innocence kink lmao, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Pregnancy, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Punishment, Royalty AU, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), theyre both kinda evil? That’s for u to decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/pseuds/vuas
Summary: Her kingdom sells her hand the moment his thunderous black horse arrives at the border. Nobody fights for her honor like in the stories she’s read. There is no duty-bound, brave knight in possession of sparkling eyes coming to save her.There’s only the Red King and his bloody sword.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 109
Kudos: 1286





	And Your Kingdom Too

**Author's Note:**

> Adam Driver in a period costume isn’t good for my health

Rey hardly looks at the man.

Peasants named him the Red Emperor, for all the blood on his hands. Her Uncle called him a madman, that Kylo Ren, whittled down by the need for revenge. The knights of her little court call him nothing—afraid to breathe him into existence, like a phantom summoned by the smell of fear.

And she will call him _husband_.

Her kingdom sells her hand the moment his thunderous black horse arrives at the border. It’s all quick—the signatures, the exchange of hands, the quivering of her attendants as they bundle her up in her warmest dress, bound for the north. Nobody fights for her honor like in the stories she’s read. There is no duty-bound, brave knight in possession of sparkling eyes coming to save her.

There’s only the Red King and his bloody sword.

* * *

She hears about him her entire childhood: the man who wore an iron mask and killed his master. Like the bogeyman, he creeps into her dreams, slowly occupying the space she once held for another. A ruthless warlord who’s legend says he slit Ben Solo’s neck years ago and took his place. A man who takes and takes.

It’s a rumor until it’s not: that he’s coming for _her_. The Red King seeks complete control over anyone who dares to spite his rule, alive or dead. Ben was no exception; Rey prays each night that his end was swift and painless, the memory of his brown eyes marred only by time, like ink diluted in water.

She hardly remembers Ben now, but it seems Kylo Ren never forgets.

First he comes for the beaches of the east—then turns up towards the mountains, slogging through snow. By spring, his army awaits outside the castle walls, having laid waste to very little in exchange for compliance. They seek the child bride of Ben Solo—already a widow in spirit, her betrothed long gone. Kylo Ren takes what belonged to that brown haired boy, and her hand in marriage is no exception.

Plutt drags her by her hair out of the kitchen, shoving her into the great hall with such force she trips on the linen of her skirts, falling at the Red King’s feet. She doesn’t dare look at his masked face, lest it be the last thing she sees.

“Take the girl,” Plutt spits, wrinkled face pathetic with fear. “Do whatever you plan with her and spare us.”

The old man’s blood never quite comes out of her dress.

* * *

He stays masked even as the priest wraps cloth around her wrist, binding them together for eternity. Rey watches her arm, fascinated by the way his hand engulfs her own. It’s easier to pretend his calloused fingers belong to someone else—that _she_ is someone else. A milkmaid and her farmer boy, destined for a quiet life of work and sunsets, the only bloodshed that of livestock for hungry children’s bellies.

Of course, peasant girls are not dripping Alderranian jewels on their wedding day.

The congregation kneels when the chanting is over, magic words from old gods that give the man beside her permission to spread her legs whenever he liked. Half of the crowd is visibly fearful—of _him_ , of course.

And _her_ , now too.

  
  


* * *

As is custom in the north, there’s only one chair at the head of the banquet. 

She sits stiffly in his lap until he plies her with enough wine; for all her night terrors it would seem her husband is not, in fact, a beast with teeth and tail, but only a man. She spends the first course wondering when his fingers would turn into talons and pluck out her liver—but it never happens, and she’s oddly bereft, unsure what to do with all the pent up despair. 

Especially when he holds her with a gentleness unbecoming of a monster.

Soon she’s clutching her chalice with white fingertips, greedy for the way the wine turns her thoughts pink and soft. It’s easier than thinking about how short the rest of her life is destined to be, extinguished by a bloodthirsty murderer. It’s almost guaranteed now, by the way his hand settles on her thigh: the Red King must’ve decided he’ll bed her at the very least. Perhaps she’ll live to see one last sunrise.

“You should eat,” a voice murmurs, low in her ear. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” she slurs, unable to fight him off when he pulls the glass from her fingers. “It _wasn’t_.”

“Who do you think you belong to, little princess?” He sounds almost amused, which is as alarming as the heavy hand creeping up her hip.

She blinks at the question. Hates him, viciously, seethingly—despises that awful mask, a slate of iron that gives her nothing. Should slit his throat with the dagger in her sleeve.

“I’m not a princess anymore,” she mumbles, digging her nails into the muscle of his forearm, hoping to cause him an ounce of pain. “You married me and now I’m a queen.”

“You forget your place, little wife,” he squeezes her middle, lifting his arm so fingers can creep beneath her jaw, holding her still with terrifying force. “Or did your court ladies keep you naive of what happens on your wedding night?”

She shivers in his lap, trying not to think about those same hands squeezing the life from a boy she loved. The same hands that will touch her, body and soul. Her dagger is sharp, a sliver of steel broaching the fabric of her sleeve. It glints in the candlelight like one of her many jewels, begging for use.

He tsks, fingering the hidden weapon. “Can’t kill me until _after_ you consummate our wedding, darling, if you want to be a Queen.” Leaning back, he releases her from the cage of his arms, gesturing to the food. “You should at least enjoy yourself before committing treason—for what? Some boy?”

“You didn’t know him,” she snarls. “Don’t speak of him like you did.”

“You know, I did wonder if you’d really kept yourself pure. But I can see it all over your face now, pet.” He takes in the sorrow across her face; continues with more than an ounce of pity. “Don’t tell me you _loved_ him?”

“I did,” she whispers.

A small part of her still does.

* * *

“I hate you,” she starts, jumping off the bed and rushing blindly at the man who appears at the door. “I hate you, I _hate you—“_

“Don’t cry,” he grasps her little beating fists, pulling her against him. “Don’t cry, Rey.”

“I don’t have _anybody_ —I don’t have anything left. Even you get to have me and I have _n-nobody,”_ she sobs into his shirt, allowing him to pet her hair, scoop her up and carry her to bed like a child. She’s dizzy with fury, her body unable to protest as he soothes her tears, neediness outweighing her hatred.

“That’s not true at all,” he leans over once she’s settled on the mattress, wiping her cheek. “Rey, _look_ at me.”

He does something peculiar—reaches up and pulls down his mask, allowing it to tumble to the floor with a metallic clang.

Shamefully, she peeks at his face for the first time, blinking away the salty heat of tears. His features swim in the dim candlelight: broad nose, curled hair, a sizable scar marring his brow. It’s the first time she’s actually _seen_ him, and maybes she’s dreaming—

Because he has honey-brown eyes, once thought lost to time.

Rey reaches up to graze his skin, disbelief cold in her gut, the strange familiarity of his countenance assembling itself before her. “I don’t—I don’t understand,” she says, gaze dipping to a recognizable plush mouth. “Why do you look like- _?”_

“You told me you wanted a kingdom,” he turns his head to kiss her fingertips, eyes as hot as embers, voice so dark it burns. “So I made one. My little wife receives anything she asks for.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling too many things at once. In particular, how stupid she must be, for it to have escaped her notice that her husband wears the face of Ben Solo.

“Are you going to warm the bed of your king?”

Rey nods with a slow smile, her shyness warring with the utter delight of this discovery. 

His smile is smug, satisfied— _regal_.

* * *

He kisses her like he could die from it: his mouth is heavy and unforgiving while he _takes_ for what feels like hours. Until she’s breathless and desperate for more, leaning into every movement as he teaches her to be a good wife.

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs against her lips, letting out a pleased sound when she obeys. 

His tongue too, is like the rest of him: warm but ruthless. He licks from her as if she’s honey—like perhaps she’s been sweetened by wine, turned into a treasure that can only be valued through a kiss.

She imagines herself a bird, cresting higher and higher on the wind—so when he _finally_ pulls away again, Rey’s brow creases, biting back abrupt disappointment. 

“Was that...it?” She's overheard the scullery maids before; worldly women who poked fun at lacking lovers. They said sometimes men would bring you up only to disappoint. It seemed strange that Ben might be in that category, for all the charming masculinity he possessed—but she supposed it wasn’t impossible.

“What?” 

“Did we—you _know_.” Rey waves a hand at her abdomen. “Will I have a baby now?”

“... _what?”_

“I just thought there’d be more to it,” she shrugs. “I suppose you can blow out the candle.”

“God’s _thumb_ , Rey Kenobi,” he groans, burying his face into her neck, words spoken against her skin with a grumble. “No, that’s not all there is to it.”

“Oh,” mortification pools in her veins. She’s thankful in his current position Ben can’t see her face. “Well. That’s good to know. I mean, I thought so, since everyone always chats about what’s between their legs. I was just—checking.”

Ben lifts his head, again looking amused. “I'd rather discuss the knife in your sleeve, my wife.”

Her face pinkens, but she can hardly deny it—they both saw the glimmer of steel at dinner. She may be guilty, but she’s not sorry.

“I don’t have it now,” she tries, nervous of the unforgiving expression he wears. “They took it when I was dressed for bed.”

He sits up on the bed, nodding as she talks. “Yes, I was told. And I’m glad you didn’t try to use it at the feast—it would have been unfortunate to punish you in front of our guests.”

The word _punish_ hangs in the air, and Rey squirms for it. “Ben,” she whispers, skin buzzing. “I don’t think—”

“Over my knee. Don’t make me ask again.”

She doesn’t move until he raises an eyebrow, _daring_ her to make him come get her. It’s the most shameful movement of her life, crawling to him in her nightgown until she’s arranged facedown across his lap, heartbeat in her ears.

“I allowed you to languish in that wild country for so long, darling, and now we have to pay for it. You’ve been untamed, and I blame myself, of course—but no more.” A hand settles on her bottom, squeezing until it elicits a noise from her throat. 

“I’ll enjoy teaching you, however,” he muses, petting her skin through the linen cloth still covering her body, slowly pulling it higher until she’s exposed to the air and his eyes. “Just a few for now, I think. You’ve had such a big day already.”

A few is a daunting number for a man of his size; his hand nearly covers her entire ass, capable of unspeakable damage. The first slap isn’t hard, too quick for her to brace—and yet she shrieks, furious, planting an elbow in his side. Ben is quick to wrench her wrists behind her back, pinning her in place with a _tsk._

It turns out _a few_ is more than ten—after that she loses count, busy trying to stifle her sobs into the bed. Her body feels like it’s on fire each time another slap rains down on her heated skin; eventually the fight slips out of her trembling limbs and she’s left limp, watery hiccups the only sound between each spank.

“I’m _s-sorry,”_ she begs finally, unable to take more, sweat dripping down her neck, a satisfying ache in her bones, the strange tickle between her legs a mystery. Everything about her feels broken and yet washed anew, like coming up for air after being baptized.

Ben coos, hauling her up in his arms, kissing away the hiss she lets out when she’s sat properly on his broad thigh. “Come now, you’re going to be good, yes?” He cups her face in both hands, wiping her tears. Rey nods, again and again, sniffling until she’s safely rocked against his chest and the searing pain dulls. 

“You did very well. Take off your nightgown, little wife.”

Rey stills, the way he says the words _doing_ something incomprehensible to her mind, snapping an invisible thread taut. Ben lays her out against the pillows, eyes darker than she’s ever seen, following every movement like a predator.

“More,” he coaxes, a smile twitching at his lips when she reveals her knees. 

“Is that—enough?”

“No,” he captures one of her ankles and pulls her to the end of the bed, curling his fingers into her skin. She gasps at the brute sensation, confused by the strange heat unfurling in her spine, the shiver on the back of her neck.

“All the way, little one. Show what belongs to me, now.”

How strange, to be bare before the man she was plotting to kill mere hours ago; when her nightgown hits the floor with a swish of fabric it occurs to her that the Red King— _Benjamin—_ is far more handsome than she anticipated. A fact which becomes clear as Ben tugs off his tunic to reveal miles of pale skin dotted with scars, her insides pleasantly fluttering at the sight. His heated eyes trail her naked body with obvious delight; greedy for the curve of her hip and breast. Rey tugs her hair loose from its braid until it’s free like the rest of her.

“Next time I’ll fuck you in a crown and your ermine,” Ben kneels, pushing apart her knees despite a whimper of protest. “Show me your pretty cunt, sweet. There it is—ah, you’ve made a mess in my bed, haven’t you?”

She glances down with a huff of embarrassment: even in the dim light, she can see that the tuft of hair between her legs is damp with slick. Her face heats with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—that’s never ha-happened before—”

“It’s alright,” he smirks, pressing her thighs wider with a kiss, settling between them. “I’ll just clean you up, shall I?” 

“Oh, thank— _you—”_

She’s cut off by an abrupt little squeal, hips jerking forward as some delightful warmth envelops her center. Her fingers find their way to his scalp, tugging at his hair uselessly, squirming beneath his bulky frame. It takes her awhile to understand that it’s his _tongue_ licking away at some precious part of her, treating it with such gentle thoroughness she could weep. Soft, broad strokes like a painter, his attention slowly narrowing to that little bud until Rey can’t remember what it’s like to exist without pleasure.

“Ben,” he pants, body trembling, hurtling towards some invisible heaven. “Ben, I don’t—”

“That close already?” He lifts his head and Rey could _scream_ so for the way it infuriates her, delicious tension leaking from her bones. “Ah, you are. Deep breaths. Not yet.”

“But _why?”_ She whines, unsure of what she’s even asking, body racked with shivers as if it will deliver her from this torture. Already she mourns the loss of his mouth. 

“You’re going to come for the first time on my cock, that’s why.”

She lifts her head, biting her lip: odd, the way his voice suggests there will be no argument. Like it’s not even a decision he’s made, but a right of his nature, his title, his dominion over her body.

“Ben,” she calls softly, frowning at the ceiling.

“Mhm?” 

“What is—how do I…” her voice trails off as he licks closer to where she wants. “What do you mean ‘come’?”

He lifts his head, lips slick with her own essence. There’s a long silence in which she can almost _hear_ him think. “P-pardon?”

“I don’t understand. What is it? Where do you want me to go?”

He laughs like it’s been startled out of him, eyes terribly soft. “Oh—I am going to turn you into a _feral_ little thing, aren’t I?”

Rey scowls—he didn’t answer her question; but it doesn’t matter because he’s back to licking between her legs, ruthlessly finding every inch of skin he can. No matter how she twists beneath him, the unfamiliar coil in her stomach winds tighter until she lets out a sound so obscene that their bedchamber could be mistaken for a common whorehouse.

“Spread your legs,” he grunts abruptly, crawling above her, looking like a man possessed. Rey changes her mind—perhaps her husband _is_ more animal than man, prowling over her body like a dragon with its hoard. 

“But I want…” her voice trails off, confused and sweetly frustrated. The glory of whatever he was doing fades like a mirage. Rey wrinkles her nose; she _hates_ it.

“And you _will,_ sweetheart, I promise. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Rey,” his hand drifts between her thighs again, dipping into the wetness gathered there, rubbing it between his fingers. “I did it all for you. I told you to wait for me to come back, do you remember?”

She nods, entranced as his fingers vanish from view, touching until they find—

“Ah,” she winces, sweat beading her forehead, hands curled on his shoulders. He pushes inside of her in a swift movement, eased by slick. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” confusion blotches her expression. “It’s so—strange?”

He smiles, indulgent. “Does it feel good?”

There’s an odd motion within that makes her legs jerk, a mewling sound slipping from her lips. “ _Oh.”_

_“_ When I fit my cock in you, little wife,” his fingers crook again, “it’s going to touch here. Over and over while I fuck you.”

“Please,” she croaks, suddenly strung tight, unable to imagine wanting anything else but _more_. All of this impossible pleasure flows with each pass of his fingers, the thickness of them stretching her wider until it feels like she can’t breathe, until her legs won’t stop shaking and her vision goes white at the edges.

“Are you going to be good,” his fingers push deep, “take the whole thing, sweet?”

“Ben,” she begs—for what, she’s not sure. Mercy, perhaps. She should've read her scriptures more often; it’s entirely possible she’s been sent to hell, tortured as she feels with longing.

“Nice and wet, do you hear that? We’ll stretch you slowly.”

His cock is proud and tall where it hangs, the purpled head pushing through her curls, anointed with her own essence. It should be crass, but Rey is mesmerized by the glistening string connecting them, watching as he slowly pushes.

Her body gives and gives, all of it making room for him inside of her, allowing him to own her cunt, touch every bare inch. She cries and squirms beneath him as he coos—the stretch too much until it’s not, until he bottoms out and her shoulders slump with relief.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “Don’t move yet. _Lord_ you’re tight.”

She _can’t_ move, hardly dares to breathe. Her body is impaled by his cock, choking on it, the girth spearing her completely. She might tear in two: there’s nowhere to go, and she’s forced to grit her teeth to cope with the unyielding length pulsing inside of her. Rey feels floaty, strange, choosing to hide her tearstained face in the bulk of his shoulder.

And then he _thrusts._

An undignified squeak is ripped from her throat; the hot slide of Ben’s body cruel in how good it feels as he moves experimentally into her. _This_ was what she’d been waiting for? Why hadn’t he come for her sooner?

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he nips at her shoulder, watching her blissed out expression. Had she said all that out loud? “I’ll fuck you as many times as you want, little wife. Going to keep you in bed for days until you’re filled with it, until you beg me to stop. Going to fuck this heavenly little cunt until everyone knows you’re _mine_.”

There’s something otherworldly nudging at the tip of her pleasure: Ben slides a hand down between them to find the nub he’d so tenderly doted on with his tongue, easing gentle fingers over swollen skin. “Go on, Rey. Say it. Tell me who owns you.”

“I’m yours,” she hiccups, taking each stroke even though it feels like she could die. “Yours Ben, always— _oh_ , I’m so—”

“Going to bend you over on my throne,” he growls in her ear, his hand twisting in her hair to arch her head back. “Going to make everyone watch what a sweet little wife I have, so they can see how deep you take your Emperor’s come.”

Rey squeezes, gasping for something she can’t name, feeling as distilled as a dewdrop. Part of her wants to stop him from unleashing this _thing,_ but the other part is eager for as much as it can get, a greedy, terrible beast thundering beneath her skin. This is what he’s made of her; an animal to match his own.

“Oh, you’re going to come, aren’t you? Darling, it’s alright. Let it happen, don’t fight it. That’s it—what a good girl I have, spreading her legs so sweetly to get fucked.”

Rey convulses, burying a silent scream into his shoulder, her body no longer her own, finally understanding the mystery. Ben just smiles and praises each quiver, hiding her trembling from the world as he fucks her into the mattress; the brutal slap of skin, the wooden frame scraping the stone floor with each thrust. It hurts in a beautiful way, how her world is reduced to Ben and his fat cock nestled in her cunt like it lives there.

“I’m going to come, Rey—going to fill you up, would you like that?” He seizes her jaw, tilting her head to face him. “Answer me,” he snarls.

She nods, the steady rhythm of little whimpers from her throat echoing off the walls. “Please,” she begs, overwhelmed. “I want t-to be good. A good wife, like you said.”

“I made you a kingdom,” he grunts, words stuttering as he bottoms out. “I made you a queen—anything you want, sweetheart, as long as you let me into this sweet cunt.” His fingers leave bruises where they fall on her body, no part of her left that isn’t his.

Rey thinks of his throne—of the power he wields. All for her: a wedding gift. Anything. Everything. The pinch of her maidenhead such a small price to pay in return.

“Come, Ben,” she coaxes, tired, stretched open, and ever so pleased as he fucks into her. “Come inside so I’ll be yours—”

It’s the possession of her soul that makes him groan, grabbing her hips and pulling tight until there’s a searing heat in her womb. Ben’s face scrunches up, teeth gritted like he’s in battle instead of her bed. She imagines a pretty iron crown upon his dark curls, slipping just a little over his brow with each gush of spend.

Good thing she’ll be there to catch it when it falls.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Was this just an excuse to use the phrase “my little wife” 16 times? yes
> 
> @thevuaslog on twitter
> 
> Thank you to Poet for being a lovely beta (and person!!)


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